


Way to you

by bellemelody



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band), Youkai Ningen Bem (TV 2011)
Genre: Community: capslock-turtle, Horns, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:43:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellemelody/pseuds/bellemelody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> He just accepts Kame as he is because, in the end, Nakamaru doesn’t want to change anything. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Way to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celticdrum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celticdrum/gifts).



> Written for Joo at Kame Exchange <3 
> 
> Many thanks to my wonderful beta Gabby, to MC and Lulu for helping me and supporting my idea <3

Bem doesn’t know what love means. The tender, shy and happy smiles or bitter sighs and tears that can break hearts; he has seen it, but it has never touched him, leaving just a lingering feeling somewhere on the edges of his mind. The feeling that he is missing something and can’t grasp it, but oblivious of what that is, he can’t feel sorry. Maybe just a bit curious.

The chilly wind plays with his silver hair, caressing his face and making the thin silk scarf around his neck wave. However, Bem can’t feel the cold.

The view from this hill is beautiful and familiar, gives a tingling feeling of peace and, maybe, of _home_. The moon is pale and huge in the sky tonight. 

_People are scared of the darkness_ , he thinks, but then looks down at the shiny path on the surface of the river, rarely disturbed by tiny waves, and how it lights up the night, how it helps to find a way. 

Some way. Any way.

Bem touches the ground with his stick and looks at the city; he listens to human voices, sometimes loud and sometimes just barely audible whispers. He sees the lonely figure of Natsume sitting in a dark room and hugging his stooped shoulders, trembling.

The grip on the stick becomes stronger and the porcelain skin of his hand starts cracking. There is a tear running down his cheek; the dark shadow on the asphalt becomes bigger, different, as his form distorts and changes

The sleeping city wakes up with an inhuman howl that could tear a soul apart.

Bem doesn’t know what love means, but he wants to understand.

***

 _Member-ai_. This expression is hardly suitable for KAT-TUN. They don’t hate each other, but rarely show signs of _love_. Nakamaru knows it well; he has spent enough years with them, gone through so many different things, it would be hard not to know.

KAT-TUN doesn’t love each other. Not in the way fans expect. They try not to shove their noses in each other’s private life, not to push too much, not get involved. Nakamaru knows it very well. Love is a very tricky word and he always looks skeptically at this overrated feeling.

Nakamaru _cares_. 

About his future, about his career, about his comfortable clothes. About long awkward silences in a room too little to contain their egos; about Ueda having a fight with some members and not talking for weeks; about Koki being upset and kicking Taguchi’s chair. About Kame, who acts like a lonely ship, tries to survive the storm on his own. And about Jin, who looks sometimes like a lost child. 

Nakamaru has _always_ cared. 

He calls Ueda in the evenings, asks about his dogs and his songwriting, then sits near Koki and distracts him with his new composition, pushes Taguchi’s chair far away from Koki’s reach; snaps at Kame, demanding for him to stop it, to share the burden a little bit. He stays near Jin, because for Jin, that is enough.

This is not love. This is KAT-TUN. They don’t love each other.

They _care_.

***

Kame has a unique sense of humor. Sometimes he makes you smile just out of embarrassment; others, he’d leave you puzzled trying to understand how his brain works.

Nakamaru is still trying to figure this out.

Maybe Kame has this special button that makes him all jumpy and giggly one moment, and serious and mature the next.

Nakamaru still can’t figure it out. He just accepts Kame as he is because, in the end, Nakamaru doesn’t want to change anything.

_Is that love?_

That’s another thing for Nakamaru to figure out.

***

Bem doesn’t know what loneliness means.

A surge of power makes his trembling body move, his hat on the ground, next to his jacket and his reason. The wind blows on his face, the silver hair waving with every movement and the thin silk scarf tightens on his throat, but Bem can’t feel it, can’t feel the cold. His naked feet barely touch the ground as he runs as fast as he can.

The pale moon shines in the dark night sky over the sleeping city. 

Bem doesn’t know what loneliness means; he’s never been alone. He can’t imagine what he would feel if one day Bela and Belo would leave him for a different path, another life and other feelings. Maybe Bem would cry embracing himself with trembling hands too?

A hollow sound, the knock on the door, but no one opens, even when Bem knows Natsume is inside. One second of hesitation and he pushes the door, taking a blind step into the darkness.

Bem doesn’t know what loneliness means, but he wants to understand.

***

It’s dark in the room, silent, and Nakamaru is not sure if Kame is sleeping already or just lying there, with his eyes closed. He gives up trying to listen to Kame breathing, but just as he turns around, he is met with dark glossy eyes looking at him, a dangerously cheeky smile showing a white line of perfect teeth. Kame props himself on his elbow, his brown hair framing his face, pale in the darkness.

“ _Oppa_ ” Nakamaru hears and sighs heavily. They just had their last concert; Kame should be drained, not like this. Full of _this_ type of energy.

“Hmm,” Nakamaru hums, dismissively. Closes his eyes tiredly.

“I like you.”

Nakamaru sighs.

“I want to kiss you.”

He scoffs. There is a sound of rustling sheets and bare foot against the cold floor before his bed sags under the newly added weight. He feels warm fingers on his face, starting from the forehead, down to his closed eyelids. The touch is almost too shallow, too light to be real. Nakamaru holds his breath when a finger trails lower, past his nose, and finally touches his lips.

Nakamaru opens his eyes wide, when meeting with brown ones. They are looking down to where his fingers are softly pushing against his mouth, spellbound.

“What are you doing?” Nakamaru’s voice is too high in the silent darkness of Taipei’s night.

“I want to kiss you,” Kame repeats.

“That’s not funny, Kame,” Nakamaru says, and actually tries to sound firm, but it doesn’t work. Not when Kame leans forward and kisses him without hesitation. He feels lips, and hands and warmth pulling him forward and trapping him there. The bed is incredibly soft.

“You will regret it later,” he whispers against Kame's lips, still feeling the strange and confusing feeling threatening to spread from the middle of his chest to his fingertips. He thinks that, if he lets it happen, says anything louder than a whisper, it’ll get out of control. And Kame _will_ know.

“I won’t.”

 _Typical_ , Nakamaru thinks. Kame’s confident look flickers in front of him for a second before he kisses him again. This time, Nakamaru closes his eyes and kisses back.

***

Kame never regrets it. He doesn’t even like the sound of that word. _Regret_. Is there any sense in regretting something you can’t change? It’s wiser to move on. Nakamaru knows it, because Kame is an open book; except when he’s not. When he’s not, he is like a Pandora’s box that pulls Nakamaru into a vortex of emotions that mutes all reason and awakens strange feelings he shouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , have.

It is amusing, for Kame, sometimes. He hugs him, hands tight on his chest, too close to his heart; so close Nakamaru is sure he will feel his heartbeat. It confuses him, how Kame kisses his neck gently, how the skin he touches burns.

Kame is like a wave, unstoppable and passionate. And it’s tempting, _so_ tempting, to succumb to him.

Nakamaru looks puzzled at Kame, who comes too close despite knowing the camera is recording, and the look in his eyes makes his stomach flop. He knows this expression; it’s the one Kame uses when he’s preparing some unforgettable appearance, some bold move. One that may involve leaning dangerously close to Nakamaru’s heartstrings.

When Kame’s intentions become clear, Nakamaru draws back. He feels exposed, as if the camera could read all his thoughts, could _see_ that which should remain hidden; as if it now knew what memories boil inside of him. Kame smirks, because he knows too.

“I know you so well,” Kame mutters, smiles confidently, and Nakamaru looks at the sparkling amusement on his eyes. He pulls Kame closer, snuggles against the big couch and buries his nose in the messy brown hair, feeling Kame shaking with laughter. He places the softest kiss on his head, decides that he can let Kame believe for a bit longer in whatever he wants to believe.

Kame doesn’t stop; “ _no one can resist the Kamenashi charm_ ”, he says. Nakamaru can, actually, because he knows him too well. How he loves to act cool and be all serious and collected, and how he spends endless afternoons on his couch, laughing at his own lame jokes, hiding his cold toes under Nakamaru’s thighs.

Nakamaru knows him _too_ well. And he doesn’t regret opening this Pandora Box to let Kame take control of his heart.

***

Bem doesn't know what it means to be human. He has spent so many years on Earth observing, looking, _trying_ to get it. People can feel, can love each other enough to turn the world into some bright colored canvas full of happy stains. They can also hurt each other so deeply that hope disappears and there is only despair.

Bem looks at the head bowed low; the broad shoulders slumped looking so vulnerable and fragile in that moment. He can’t breathe, can’t decide what to do when all he feels is confusion and restraint.

All these years, he has kept his promise, being near and watchful, but some things, _these_ things, are far from Bem's power. He doesn’t _know_ how to deal with it.

He has seen, powerless, how couples grow apart, how past tragedies haunt their present until they dissolve all possibilities of a future. Bem has seen many smiles, wide and playful and happy, morphing into bitter words and angry looks and dreaded farewells. 

Most of the times, it is difficult to understand the human mind. The human heart, Bem doesn’t even have a clue. They just want to be happy, he knows that much; they’re also afraid to upset the ones they cherish. They end up losing themselves at some point.

Bem doesn't know what it means to be human, but he believes that when you feel like crying, you should cry. That it is not weakness or strength, just feelings, and _that_ is what makes them human and it is wonderful.

He looks at the clenched hands and hunched shoulders, thinking that if the one you care about is hurting, you should be able to hug him, to try to take the pain away just a little. Natsume taught him that and Bem holds Belo and Bela very close to his heart whenever he can. 

He puts his hand back in his pocket, feels the chocolate wrapper. 

Bem doesn't know what it means to be human, but he wants to understand.

***

Nakamaru looks out the window of the little café where he likes spending his scarce free time. The tea here has a very nice aroma and they always serve freshly baked cookies.

" _Normal tea and normal cookies with normal Nakamaru… who sits here looking at an extraordinary world_ ".

Nakamaru smiles, remembering those silly words Kame had said when they first came here together. It’s not the kind of place where paparazzi would come to stalk idols. "Like they’d ever think you are an idol!" had said Kame with a playful smile, hand warm where it lay on Nakamaru’s thigh as Nakamaru prayed no one noticed where it was really going.

His own ringtone makes Nakamaru return to Koki, sitting in front of him. They are back here, their free time surprisingly synced after a long while. It’s not the same, even if you see each other every day at work. It has nothing to do with the fact that Kame is busy. Nakamaru knows that he is always busy.

"Kame-chan!" says Koki cheerfully, his phone pressed to his right ear. "Sure. Don't worry about it," Koki chuckles and Nakamaru can imagine Kame’s tone and expression. "Do you want me to pick you up?" 

Nakamaru waits patiently. Koki hangs up, still chuckling, staring at the phone even when it lays silent on the table. "He’s so drunk… I’m sorry he didn’t call us sooner."

Nakamaru lets himself smile a little. "Will you pick him up?" he asks casually, not thinking about taxi drivers and police stations and Kame’s current state.

"Nah,” Koki replies, but when Nakamaru looks worried, he adds with a dismissive hand gesture. “He’s with the cast for his new drama.”

Later, Nakamaru finds an article of Kame with one of his co-actors. He doesn’t make a sport of reading his bandmate’s articles, but the photos attract his attention. 

When Nakamaru leaves home that day, he stares for long at his face in the mirror. He doubts he has an _Eroi_ face.

***

Nakamaru breathes in relief when the shooting of Yokai Ningen Bem wraps up. He feels proud looking at the ethereal beauty and power of Kame's talent. It’s enticing, plunges you into another world filled with hardships and love and kindness in forms that aren’t human. It is impossible to stay indifferent.

The champagne in his glass glitters. He looks at it absentmindedly, remembering Kame’s body becoming thinner in his arms and the distance reappears like an invisible wall.

Nakamaru knows too well how serious Kame is about his work, how he puts his all into understanding his role, making it _real_. 

But it’s not only that anymore, not when filming has wrapped up already. Nakamaru feels it, this invisible wall materializing when Kame avoids the closeness he used to prompt, how he is made now of longs stares under his fedora. And silence.

This is not like Kame. The annoying voice somewhere in his head whispers, _"Maybe it was never serious for him",_ but Nakamaru knows better, and tries to hold the memories closer, of eyes filled with tenderness and hungry kisses, the hot whispers and demanding hands and the comfort of a strong heartbeat under his palm when he falls asleep. 

Loud laughter makes him look around, a sound he’s already started to miss. It used to be almost exclusively for him, coupled with some lame joke that could beat Taguchi’s anytime. He finds it then, on the far corner of the room, eyes that aren’t looking at him anymore. 

Is this all because of -? 

Kitamura-san listens to Kame with a charming smile; so confident, so attractive. So different from the character he played in the drama. Nakamaru observes his face, his dark eyes that always look amused (‘ _mocking_ ’, the voice would whisper, but Nakamaru shushes it), the lips curved in a half smile (‘ _very sensual_ ’ it whispers again, and Nakamaru doesn’t even try).

"That's not serious", Ueda says calmly sipping his champagne, noticing what Nakamaru is looking at . The party around them buzzes with white noise and Nakamaru can at least listen to him. He wants to laugh, because what _is_ serious for Kame. Maybe nothing is.

Truthfully, he wants to ask if _Nakamaru_ is.

Because they never confessed, never said anything out loud and all there was is Kame kissing Nakamaru in a dark night and Nakamaru wishing the night would never end.

***

Bem doesn't know how to heal a human heart. He draws a picture of a fragile red heart, one that breaks so easily and crashes in a million pieces, red blood flowing everywhere until it’s too much and he blanks his mind again.

Natsume’s empty eyes and pale cheeks make that strange ache reappear in his chest. Bem wonders if his heart is broken, if it has blood flowing everything, and if maybe it would be better if there was green blood flowing because that one heals faster. His heart wouldn’t be broken for long because Bem isn’t even sure it _exists_.

Realization dawns on him and it’s so heavy it can crush him to the ground. Because Bem doesn’t know if he has a heart. And yet, he still feels that ache. And holds on to hope.

When Natsume's wife left their home, they embraced warmly and wished each other a good life. Bem thought she will return, but she never did; only sent postcards from different places around the world that tasted like ashes and fallen leaves. Natsume took up the habit of climbing the hill every night to look at the pale moon and Bem wonders what he is searching for there, stays in the shadows most of the time.

Until tonight.

"Bem-san," is what greets him, startled, surprised, when Bem steps out of his hiding. His eyes are red, but dry, and for a second, Bem feels at a loss. There are no right words of comfort, no way to express what’s boiling in his chest. 

"Don't cry," he says softly instead, because that’s what hurts the most.

Natsume smiles, and it’s sad, but there is something hopeful in his eyes. 

"I thought I’ll never see you again," he says. He sounds awed, a bit relieved. It pulls a sincere smile from Bem's face.

"I promised I’d always be with you."

All these years being near and so, so far away. It makes him feel something new, something he can actually name because he has seen it before, in other humans, and in the looks Natsume gave to the postcards. _Longing_. He had missed it, _so much_ , looking directly into his eyes.

Bem sits near Natsume; the wind ruffles his silver hair, and there is a tentative hand on his arm, up on his shoulder. Natsume stares, like he is afraid Bem will disappear and he needs to hold him before he evaporates. 

He pinches Natsume’s nose. “You’re my friend,” he mutters, smiles. And waits.

Natsume’s eyes open wide, but there it is. A smile appears on his face and Bem’s chest can’t control it anymore. _So warm,_ he thinks, and the ache is melting slowly, replaced by something mellow and nice. 

Natsume finds the end of the long thin scarf and tugs on it, pulling Bem close their noses are touching and their lips are pressed together. Bem can’t move, is too surprised to, and that warm sensation keeps flowing, all the way to his fingertips.

Bem doesn't know how to heal a human heart, but he tries to understand. He lets it open this evening, when Natsume whispers warm words in his ear, admits he has missed Bem, and holds their hands to their chests, foreheads still touching, and Bem can feel it too. His heartbeat in sync with Natsume’s.

Bem doesn't know how to heal a human heart, but he will find the way.

***

Nakamaru wakes up with a loud noise, like something crashing and falling, so he opens eyes and sits on his bed blinking, still not fully awake. The other side of the bed is empty; the pillow still has the scent of Kame’s shampoo. 

"Kame?" he calls, voice rough from sleep. There is no response, so Nakamaru scratches the back of his neck and stands on wobbly legs.

The light on the kitchen is off. When sterile white light fills the narrow space, the first thing he notices is Kame's naked back in front of the sink. Then, he spots the scattered pieces of glass on the floor. The tiny puddle of blood between the sink and himself.

Panic rushes through him.

"What happened?" he asks with a tinge of desperation as he steps closer, stretching to take Kame’s hand in his own, the one that’s held in front of him. Kame turns slowly, still staring into space, but he focuses. Not enough, though, and Nakamaru dashes to the bathroom, searches for bandage and alcohol and _something_. Kame hasn’t moved an inch when he comes back.

"Hey," he calls softly, tugging on his hand, opening the faucet and pulling his hand under the water. Kame is silent, and he only hisses softly when alcohol presses against the open wound.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, finally, but his voice is too low, too distant. He looks at his hand, at Nakamaru’s hand cleaning it, and frowns in confusion. "It hurts," he groans. And it seems to click in his head just then, when he flinches as Nakamaru finishes wrapping it in bandages.

“Be careful next time," Nakamaru beckons, but it sounds exasperated even to him, and Kame stops frowning to look up, like he wants to say it wasn’t his fault, but bites his lip either way because the shattered glass is still around his feet and the bandage already has a dark red stain in it.

In the end, Kame says nothing; instead, he cradles his hand to his stomach, mutters he’s fine. "I’m sorry,” he adds. And hesitates; they both do before moving to the bedroom. Only Kame doesn’t follow Nakamaru to the bed. He sits in the corner, facing the window, and the gentle light of the full moon softens all angles and makes his eyes shine.

Fear, a strange sense of dread, clenches Nakamaru’s heart in a cold grip. He has a sudden urge to hold Kame tight, to protect him and fix everything, and destroy everything that could harm him even if he has no idea what it is that haunts Kame’s mind. What’s been haunting him lately.

He embraces Kame's broad shoulders, feels the tremor that runs through him.

"Are you here?" Nakamaru asks, and his hands tug on him to face him. He’s still looking somewhere else, and Nakamaru isn’t there. He isn’t where Kame is.

When he tightens his hold, Kame tenses and it’s the first time Nakamaru is afraid that, if he lets go, Kame will vanish. He doesn't move, nor does he hold onto Nakamaru, his hands lifeless and lips not searching, not demanding anymore. Kame is tense, like a trapped wild animal. 

Nakamaru sighs heavily; Kame always takes his work too seriously.

"I'm here,” whispers Nakamaru against the disheveled brown hair, soothingly caressing his back. “I’ll always be here.”

And he feels a hand on his waist then, hesitant at first, fingers curling on his shirt until he is clinging, holding closer, seeking the warmth. He crosses the bridge with soothing circles on Kame’s back, and shushed whispers against his hair.

Because Nakamaru will always get Kame, this part of him that _becomes_ his work, and loses himself on the way. He always will be there to hold his hand and pull him back to reality, to kiss him gently on the forehead until his breathing has calmed and he isn’t tense anymore, he isn’t trapped.

Looking out the window, Nakamaru holds Kame closer to his heart, thinking about this warm feeling spreading inside of him when he feels needed. He knows Kame too well; he can cling to these rare moments when Kame looks vulnerable and open for they are so rare, Nakamaru wants to _be_ there.

He just accepts Kame as he is because, in the end, Nakamaru doesn’t want to change anything.

***

Bem doesn’t understand his own feelings. He is confused. He has spent years learning how to control his emotions, suppress them, but when he’s with Natsume and his eyes look down at the other man’s lips, it all vanishes and evaporates into thin air.

Bem wonders if he can blush, if he _does_ blush, and what does it mean the heat on his face and the tenderness which spreads whenever Natsume smiles. Bem touches his lips, remembers.

So different, so warm.

He has never felt someone so close, has never kissed anyone before. But when Natsume’s fingers run through his silver hair, Bem shivers, and looks fixedly into his dark eyes.

Bem likes kissing, the feeling of soft lips and hands pressing him closer and holding his waist, his skin threatening to crack as Natsume’s lips ghost over his forehead. He jerks awkwardly, pushes back, but the gentle hand on his back pulls him forward and he feels soft lips again.

No matter how many days go by, Natsume is always here, playing in the darkness with his silver hair and leaving a trail of light kisses on his chest, up his jaw, behind his ear. He doesn’t get it. Something inside of him is falling apart and Bem doesn’t know what it means or how to deal with it, but Natsume touches him gently then, slowly, and warm hands caress him until Bem’s toes curl and he feels like bursting.

Bem doesn’t understand his own feelings. But he _feels_.

***

The evening is just starting and Nakamaru looks forlornly at his already empty glass. He doesn’t really like drinking, but it may help him relax right now and thus he drinks… isn’t that how it works for other people? It’s unfair, how he feels the same and none of that legendary numbness clouds his mind, how he still feels edgy and anxious.

He prays for the party to end soon so he can leave.

With Kame.

Kame won The Best Actor Award for his role as Bem, something Nakamaru honestly never doubted he deserved and yet he wasn’t expecting. He should’ve; Kame is a winner, after all. It runs in his blood, and makes his eyes shine, grit his teeth as he takes a leap to victory. 

He meets brown eyes from across the room; they look at him amusingly, an elegant eyebrow raising when they spot his empty glass. Nakamaru feels his face flush.

Kitamura is close to Kame, _too_ close, telling him something _very_ funny, because Kame is not looking at Nakamaru and he’s laughing, loud and nasal, flirting with the limit of Nakamaru’s patience.

His head feels heavy, blurry enough for him to take a step, perhaps the wrong one; perhaps, one he would regret later. Or not. _No pain, no gain…_ he chuckles, drinking his newly filled glass and heading to the source of his insomnia.

He steps closer, earning himself two gentle looks, both polite though a bit puzzled. He leans towards Kame, whispers, “I think we should go already,” with an urgent edge. His voice is calm and polite though, his eyes fixated on Kame’s.

The hand that drops at the back of his waist is warm, gentle when it rubs him soothingly, and Nakamaru finally feels tired.

“We should,” Kame whispers back, but he’s smiling, and it takes him a while to turn to Kitamura and bow with an apologetic smile, bidding farewell with a polite note and a _thank you for working with me_. The smile he receives is attractive, enough to aid Nakamaru’s paranoia, but the hand is still settled on his shoulder and Kame is guiding him out of the room.

There’s a soft thump when a head falls on his shoulder in the dark backseat of the taxi, and Nakamaru squints, trying to check if the driver is looking at the mirror and if he’ll run to the press and, _god_ , why did he drink today and why did he let Kame drag him to this party.

Kame’s hot breath hits his right ear and he turns, startled, only to hear him chuckling.

“I know you too well,” he breathes, and his voice carries amusement in it.

Nakamaru looks out the window.

“I love it when you get jealous,” And _that_ he wasn’t expecting. Nor was he expecting the warm lips almost touching his earlobe, or how they make him tremble, lean closer. He hears Kame. Every single whisper, and that is hard with how his heartbeat is strumming hard notes inside the car.

“ _No pain, no gain,”_ he thinks. And finds Kame’s lips in the darkness, so pliant and warm, tasting like alcohol and victory.

Kame is a winner and Nakamaru dropped his heart on Kame’s feet long ago.

But little does he know that Kame placed his own in _his_ hand.

_Is this love?_

And Kame is not confused nor does he not understand. He figures it out, crystal clear, and with a kiss in the dark, he makes Nakamaru understand.


End file.
